Good Riddance, January! A Celebration With Photos And A New Mantra

January is over, everyone, and I feel great about it. That month lasted approximately eleventy thousand years and was inordinately shitful. Not only did we have a Real Winter the entire month, I had to hear from all the people who were actually happy about it. There's a word for those people, but my Innate Kindness prohibits me from saying it here.

Anyway. 

I'm painfully aware that Things In General are still...Upsetting, (vast understatement) thanks to Certain People. But, to quote Maya, "What I can control is going really well." If that isn't a worthy mantra/goal statement for These Times, then I don't know what is. So I'm going to celebrate a few things right here and right now.

Celebration Photo #1:

This is a photo taken of the beautifully clear sidewalks ahead of me on my walk. Note that there is No Snow to speak of, and not because everyone shoveled. It's because it all melted away. HOORAY! Do you also see all that grass? Isn't it wonderful? I wore my sneakers! And because it was OVER FIFTY DEGREES, I also eschewed my winter coat and fleece-lined leggings and wore a bigass hooded sweatshirt and normal leggings. I walked longer and lighter and it was fantastic.

Celebration Photo #2

Sam came home one day and Zydrunas did not come down to meet him because he was upstairs in bed taking his big nap. (He's an old man now and not as vigilant a watchdog as he used to be.) When Sam went upstairs, he found Z wearing Emily's...garment. She assured me IN ALL CAPS that it is a PAIR OF SHORTS! I told her I was going to tell the entire Internet that it is a pair of her underwear. You decide. Either way, Zydrunas looks a little bit like he'd rather not have been discovered wearing them. I think Dogs are always something to celebrate! 

Celebration Photo #3

This is my car in the carwash. Before this, my shiny black car looked sad and awful. It was the same colour as the roads--whitish grey. I couldn't go to the carwash because it was -100 degrees every damn day and my car suffered. Finally, the weather broke, and Rick took me on a date to get it washed. I absolutely adore the carwash; I never stop getting a kick out of it. I am like a child, and I don't care. I'm also a cheap date.

Is everything wonderful? No, but I'm not talking about that right now. I feel good. I'm walking every day (thank you, Rick, again, for my heated coat!) and loving it. Theo is getting a third tooth and walking, talking, and using ASL, too. I'm spending the day with him on Saturday. What I can control is going really well.

What about you?

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What A Great Morning!

This morning's grocery shop was going to be a big one. I made sure to get up early and be on the road by 9AM, headed to the nicer store since produce was prominent in my list. There was still snow on the ground and ice in the driveway, leftovers from the storm earlier in the week. But the temperature was forecast to be at least 52 today, so I knew neither would last much longer.

Sadly, I hit an icy patch coming out of the garage and before I knew it, I had bumped into the corner of the house. My backup camera was no help, either, since it was caked with dirty salt residue. Luckily, it was such a soft bump that there was no damage to the car, and that corner was hit long ago by Rick, so any new damage to that piece of siding was hard to discern. I straightened out and carefully pulled down the rest of the drive. 

I still couldn't see well out of the backup camera, so I decided I'd better stop and clean it off. Parking at the foot of my driveway, I saw a young man and his dog waiting to go past. He waved me by, but I got out of the car. "Go ahead," I said. "I have to clean off my backup camera so I can see what I'm doing." In an instant, his dog, a Bull Terrier mix, ran up to me joyously. "Sorry," he said, "I'm trying to train him to walk off-leash." 

I bent and petted the wiggly dog. "Oh, that's okay. It's not his fault that I suddenly came on the scene." In an instant, the dog disappeared, and his owner groaned. "Sammy, no! Get out of there! Sammy, come! Aw, geeze, he's in your car. Sammy! That's not our car. You're not going for a ride! I'm so sorry."

I turned around to see Sammy, happily perched in the driver's seat of my Prius, smiling widely, tail wagging furiously. He jumped out and ran to me, jumping up to lick my face. His owner was mortified. I was completely delighted.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Sammy!" I really meant it. "I hope I see you in the neighborhood again soon." 

Sammy's owner sighed. "I'm really sorry about your car."

"It's nothing! Have a good walk. You have a terrific dog," I said. It really was nothing, just a few wet pawprints that wiped away with a tissue. But the encounter kept me chuckling and smiling to myself for the rest of the morning.

Honestly, that just made my day.

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After All, Joy In The Morning

 

This morning I had to get up and get going early. Thanks to the time change--and do not get me started on how stupid it is that we're still doing that in the 21st century--the cats stomped in an hour early and expressed their indignation that I'm still in bed at 6:45 AM WHAT AM I THINKING? Normally, I can gradually awaken at 7 or 7:30 with minimal feline interference, but since their stomachs did not Fall Back, it's going to be a while before we can get back to a routine.

Anyway.

I had an obligation this morning, and I also had to get gas in the car. My morning routine was hurried and a bit frantic. How were we so low on towels? I quickly got a load into the washer and made a mental note to do my own laundry as well. (I was dangerously close to resorting to my Third String Underwear--you know those--one with almost no elastic, one pair of maternity and the youngest kid is now 35.) With little time to spare, never knowing what stage the many construction projects would be in around my neighborhood, I zoomed out the door.

Naturally, I hit two reroutes in the construction zones and had to wait an extra five minutes while an enormous dump truck maneuvered around a crane. I practiced using profanity as all seven parts of speech. It wasn't that difficult. Then again, I've been honing my craft for decades.

While driving on a particularly scenic road, one I travel often, I saw something that released all my tension and negativity. It gave me such Pure Joy, and it was really nothing much at all.

A man was mowing his lawn, a large property, with a riding mower. Sitting up front with him, encircled in one arm, was a large dog. I could only get a glimpse for a moment, but what I saw was a snapshot of complete contentment and companionship. It looked as if those two had done that together for years. They were mowing toward me, and I saw both of their faces. They looked happy.

Gosh, I love seeing stuff like that. It always makes me smile and feel good. Dog heads hanging out of car windows, same thing. That sort of unabashed Joy can lift me immediately. 

I'm smiling now, just thinking/writing about it. I like a Joy that sticks with me. Even through two loads of laundry.

Here's Some Stuff From My Head: More Dogs, A Racy Sign, and My Cheap Thrill

 

I'm just going to jump right in with some falderal since it's been so long and I still don't have anything of Momentous Importance to pontificate upon. 

At least that I feel like discussing at the moment. Certainly many weighty things exist Out There that I could get all Wound Up about, but no one wants that, least of all me.

Onward.

1.  I have met the following New Dogs since last we chatted:  a teensy terrier mix puppy named Rue; a floofy husky named Sterling; a black standard poodle named Molly. Only Molly was barky and slightly rude. This is the usual Poodle Response toward me, so I didn't take offense. 

2.  At my Super Fun Grocery Store, they had a huge paint buyout in the Closeouts Department. But even better, they made this sign:

If this sign were in any other store I went to, I'd be completely annoyed and rail about it to my husband and everyone I know. But because it is in my grocery store, I can merely laugh and be indulgently amused, like parents are when their kids mispronounce words in a cute way. ("Did you hear that? She said cabrella for umbrella! How adorable.") Probably if I saw this in, say, Lowe's, I'd be outraged and complain about it for days. ("How many staff and management pass by that sign every single day and no one has noticed or bothered to correct it!? How ridiculous.") I can't wait to see if it's still there this week.

3. It's no secret that I am easily entertained, and one thing that never fails to do it for me is the automatic carwash. There's just something about sitting in your car in the dark and having all that water and suds and those brush rollers all over while your car moves all by itself through the building. I love it. I used to take Jared and Sam through one all the time during our summer vacation. When Sam used to work at a dealership in the area, he knew that taking me through their carwash would make me happy, so he did it often. Now, carwashes are pricey. Back a hundred years ago, I paid four bucks for a wash. Not anymore. But I treated myself and got an actual Carwash Membership (and not solely for the fun of it; I have a black car, and I hate how dirty it gets and how bad it looks when it does). 

I go to a Mod Wash that's on my way to my mother's place and my grocery store. I can go every single day if I want (I don't), and it's like unlimited free rides at an amusement park for me. Today I got one of their free air fresheners, which smells like the worst fruit bubblegum on steroids, so I won't be using it, but when I flipped it to the other side, I saw that it was more than just an air freshener. Here's what it said:

Thank you, Mod Wash! I needed to hear that today, a day when I am running on very little sleep, thanks to shitful cat behaviour all night and a pulled muscle in my back. Not only do you make me unreasonably lighthearted, but you remind me that I've Got This! (As long as I don't put your freshener on painted, plastic, or varnished surfaces, or mind if my car smells like 1977.) 

It's the little things, you know? Regale me with your car wash feelings and anything else in Comments.

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Cows (And I) Hate That

Scene opens on Rick and Nance in the car. They are driving to go pick up their taxes at the accountant's office.

Nance:  Why are you going straight? Why didn't you turn left? This is an odd way to go.

Rick:  I don't know the best way to go, honestly. There is no good way to go. 

Nance:  Hm. This just seems--Oh look! Cows! How wonderful!

Rick:  (turns his head toward the window at the cows)  Mooooo!

Nance:  (big sigh; disapprovingly) Cows hate that, you know. They hate being mooed at.

Rick:  They do? How exactly do you know that?

Nance:  Oh, Rick. Everyone knows that. It's disrespectful and demeaning. It's...it's like going up to a Native American and (raises one hand, palm out) saying "how."

Rick:  But how do you know that?

Nance:  I would think the analogy I just gave you is example enough. Good heavens. 

Rick:  Okay, but what if a little kid was in the car with us and said Moo to the cows? What would you think then? You'd think it was cute.

Nance:  It would depend. If it were a sweet little kid, I'd probably think it was cute. But if it were some mouthy snotty kid who is always yelling and being a brat, I'd hate it. And I'd tell him the same thing I just told you. 

Rick:  Wow. What are you trying to say? 

End Scene.

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Don't Ever Let Anyone Tell You That Old Gas Stations Or Spelling Cannot Be Romantic

Scene opens on Rick and Nance driving home. It is blistering hot, and they are tired. Nance, perhaps unwisely, tries to lighten things up when they stop at a traffic light and, on the near corner, is the gas station you see above.

Nance:  (very serious) Rick. You must never, ever stop at that gas station.

Rick:  (tiredly) What? Oh god. That place. It's terrible. The pumps are all--

Nance:  I'm not talking about that.

Rick:  (looks at the gas station for several moments; the light changes; they drive on) Well, what then?

Nance: It's just not safe. There are (adds a meaningful pause, then says the rest in a stentorian voice) Icy Conditions. Even now, at the height of the Dog Days Of Summer, there could be sleety puddles or--

Rick:  (a little exasperated)  Geeze, Nance! And here I am, looking for misspelled words or an out-of-place apostrophe!

Nance:  I could not love you any more than I do right at this minute. You know me so well.

Rick:  (big sigh)  Yes, I do.

End Scene.

In Which I Reflect Upon Small Moments Of Pure Joy

Last week I was driving to pick up my mother (previously referred to here on the blog as St. Patsy) for one of her doctor's appointments. My mother has a team of doctors who serve as her Wellness Superheroes. At 90 she is in remarkable physical health, despite her inordinate fondness for ice cream.

On this particular day I was stopped at the traffic light and, being first in my lane at the intersection, noticed movement in the first car headed the opposite direction across the road. A great deal of movement, actually, and so I took a moment to get a better look.

The driver of the car was its sole occupant. He was giving himself completely to Car Dancing: his hands hit the wheel in rhythm; his body bounced up and down; his head nodded and shook back and forth. He was grinning as if he were the happiest guy in the world. I started smiling, too, just looking at him.

For a moment I reached for my phone. "I should video this," I thought, "and put it on the blog." Then I put my hand back on the steering wheel.

I wanted to let this simple moment of Pure Joy be just that, Simple. Not everything needs to be recorded, photographed, captured, or put on display for everyone else to see. Sometimes, just Living In That Moment is the very best thing you can do, like the Happy Car Dancing Man. I felt like I'd be ruining the moment for both of us.

I drove by and felt very lucky to have seen him. He really brightened my day.

Today I drove St. Patsy to another doctor's appointment. I saw a hawk dive for its prey and a dog head sticking out of a passing pickup truck. My mother and I snarked back at my GPS, just for the hell of it. I thought again of the Car Dancing Guy, and how happy he was. It made me smile all over again.

Holy Crap, We Are Old Now

Scene opens on the living room. Rick is in his chair, researching something with his laptop. Nance sits on the couch with her laptop open, reading the newspaper online. Behind her are perched the two cats, mildly interested in what lies outside the window. Maybe.

Rick: So if we have Amazon Prime, we have Amazon Music, right?

Nance: Yes. Which reminds me, earlier this week, when I was coming home from the store, I had the radio on, and--

Rick: (whole face brightens; looks doubly interested) I can't believe I just heard that.

Nance: I know, right? *I* was listening to the radio. Did you know you can change stations right on the steering wheel? I just discovered that. There's a little button right on board, and--

Rick: Haven't you been reading the book? I thought you said you would read the book.

Nance: I have been, but it's terrible. It's all over the place.

Rick: And it's vague.

Nance: Yes. It's vague. Anyway, I had the radio on, and Lose Yourself by Eminem came on, so I cranked it up.

Rick: (grinning and wholly amused) I cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. Go on.

Nance: What? That I like that song or that I cranked it up?

Rick: All of it. Go ahead.

Nance: By the way, you can crank it up using the same button that changes the stations. So, I'm blasting Eminem and doing some car dancing and it's really alleviating my stress from shopping, and then it's over. The next song is some boring song by Diplo and somebody.

Rick: Who? Who is that? I never heard of him.

Nance: Not important. Anyway, I don't feel like listening to that, so I switch stations and try to find something else. I find something briefly, then I decide to go back to the original station, figuring Diplo is about done. Next thing I know, here comes Eminem with Lose Yourself again!

Rick: What the heck?

Nance: I know! So I crank it back up and car dance like crazy. All I can think is that a lot of these stations are automated now. They don't even have DJs anymore, just preprogrammed lists and ads and it's all autopilot. It's probably a glitch in the program. So as I'm sitting at the light acting like some hyped-up senior from 2002 on the last day of school--in my Prius--I'm laughing and wondering if the next song is going to be Diplo again.

Rick: And?

Nance: I was already pulling into the driveway, but I actually sat in the garage and waited to see if Diplo was next. It wasn't. They must have fixed that glitch. But now that I'm thinking of it, I want that song on my phone. The Eminem one. I'm going to download it now. (looks at Rick, who is shaking his head and laughing) What?

Rick: Just...everything. All of it.

Nance:  I know. It's a lot.

End scene.

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In Which A Pizza Becomes A Life Or Death Matter

We've been basking in Springlike temperatures here in NEO, and that has been one of my favourite Christmas gifts. Rick, still home recovering from his surgery, decided we should take a drive and check on things at the lakehouse. Because I'm like a big old dog, I was happy to jump in the car and go.

On our way there, we passed by the little soft-serve and pizza shack that serves as the sole restaurant for one of the tiny towns on our route. I always scan the sign out front which announces its specials.

Nance: Do you think the pumpkin pie flurry is still there?

Rick: Probably. One thing we do know is that Chocolate is gone 'til at least June.

Nance: I still don't get that. Why do they assume no one wants chocolate ice cream in the winter?

Rick: Who knows?

Nance: (reading from the sign) TRY OUR NEW PICKLE AND BACON PIZZA! Wow. Pickle and bacon.

Rick: Ugh. I wonder who comes up with that stuff.

Nance: Well, whoever it is, I commend them for their bold innovation.

Rick: Yeah? Well I condemn them.

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The Lesson Of The Rap Star Cow

Longtime Readers here at the Dept. know these two things about me already, but for any New Readers, I will provide you with the Short Version of the necessary Exposition:

1. I love cows.
2. I love car rides.

Number two has many exceptions, but suffice it to say that when I am bored, fussy, and feeling stressed like a colicky infant, it's often a good idea to strap me into the passenger seat of the car and take me out to look at things. The promise of ice cream (or pie) if I behave is not insulting to me in the least.

One of our regular car rides takes us past a particularly attractive herd of beef cattle pastured meditatively on some rolling acreage with the typical red barns. My irritation with this group of--let's call them cows for the sake of simplicity--cows is that they never wander close enough to the road so that I can get a good look at them. Instead, they prefer to stroll and munch much farther away. One cow especially is my favourite; I saw it late last fall when it was a little closer than the others. It was exceedingly tall and almost blue-black and, when it turned toward the road, it had a startlingly white face, unlike the rest of its compatriots. I'm crazy about this cow. I even named it.

I call it Ghostface Killa.

Now, I have no idea how that name came to me, and I know it's not Original. And it's certainly not a Very Nice Name for such a lovely cow. The real Ghostface Killah is actually an American rap artist, about whom I know absolutely nothing. And I definitely don't think this ghostfaced cow is a killer itself, nor that it goes around killing ghostfaces. I'm fully prepared to lay the blame for this name at the feet of my Google Newsfeed, if you want to know the truth. For all I know, it could have stuck a bunch of references to Mr. Killah (I don't spell my cow's name with the final "h") in my daily articles last year, and my brain hung onto them.

Who knows?

On Friday Rick had occasion to drive that way, so naturally I asked him if he saw Ghostface Killa in his travels. After he stopped laughing, he said, "No, Nance, but I was driving. If I'm the driver, I can't always look for cows. That's sad, but that's the way it is."

Ah, so true! Being the driver makes us miss a lot of perfectly wonderful cows along the way. Don't you think so, too?


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A Three Dog Head Kind Of Day

Zydrunas, granddog

We had quite a bit of outdoor work to get done yesterday, the one day that was going to be dry, calm, temperate, and on a weekend. Those days have been so rare this fall that we knew we didn't dare squander it. While Rick cut down and bundled the dried fountain grasses, I raked and used the leaf blower in our backyard, which is completely landscaped and has a little pond. Let me tell you, I found out speedily that I am terrible at using a leaf blower. Add that to an ever-growing list which also includes painting, backing a car in or out, and--oh forget it. Do I really want to enumerate my weaknesses?

It was energizing to be outdoors and not shiver. The sun came out unexpectedly, and I found that I did have the stamina and strength to use my Garden Weasel Garden Claw and put my herb garden to bed properly for the winter. Once again, I used my own fresh parsley, thyme, tarragon, and rosemary from it for my Thanksgiving dinner. Now, it has earned its rest.

That sunshine really put me in a FeelGood Mood, you know? And getting all that Big Work out of the way in a pretty expeditious manner did, too. I decided to make a comfort food dinner, even though I would need to run to the grocery store for a couple of items.

On my way there, a junky blue pickup truck was slowpoking along in the lane ahead of me. I sighed and tried not to feel impatient. Suddenly, a huge dog head appeared from the passenger side window. I smiled and forgave the pickup truck. Nothing brightens me up like a dog head sticking out of a car/truck window. Nothing.

I zipped into my parking spot--furthest from the store; empty in front of me so I can pull through--and zoomed right to the aisle I needed when I heard, "Oh, hey! I thought that was you, Pretty Lady!" One of my favourite employees, Tiffany, wanted to chat me up about how well she was doing in college and how her son was getting along in fourth grade. "I have a B in Stats and a B+ in Biology headed into finals. And Noah is doing awesome right now! No more notes home about his behaviour!" She is another Happiness in my Ordinary Days.

On my way out of the parking lot, I got behind a woman who just could not make her move to get out into traffic. She sat there and sat there--forever, it seemed--until a line of four cars was strung behind her. Plenty of opportunities to pull out came and went. Still we all sat there in our cars, waiting. I thought I would scream. Instead, I played Pink's "What About Us?" at top volume (and ironically).

At a red light shortly thereafter, I was treated to a Double Dog Head in a Chevy. These looked to be twin basenjis or some similar breed, and they each had on a jester's collar.  They bounced around the back seat, trading windows and poking their heads out, sometimes both from the same one.  And I swear that they were smiling. I smiled back. How could I not?

It was a Good Day.

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TECH NOTE, COMMENTS: I began moderating comments in order to allow anonymous ones as a courtesy to non-Google account commenters; however, so far I've only gotten spam. If that remains the case with this post, I'll revert back.

Politics And Precious Cargo In The Prius

Scene opens on the interior of Nance's car, driven by Rick.  Nance is seated in the passenger's side.  Rick's phone sounds, signaling the arrival of a text message. He picks it up and...

Nance: (outraged) Excuse me, but are you going to risk our lives and look at your phone right now?

Rick: (calm, eyes on the road) Nance, I was just--

Nance: (undeterred) Is my life so trivial to you that you're willing to risk it for a text message? Especially right here, where all those Trump voters come rushing out of that side road right there! Without even looking.

Rick: (sighs; pulls onto entrance ramp) How do you know that they're all Trump voters? You've got to stop being so judgy about everybody just because of where they live.

Nance: I know that they are. You know it, too. Everyone around here voted for him.

Rick:  That house there, with the Register To Vote Here sign, also has a Sherrod Brown* sign in the yard.

Nance:  And Janet Garret* and you're deflecting. The point is, I would prefer you remember that when you have me in the car, you are transporting precious cargo. (thinks for a moment; smiles wickedly) As a matter of fact, from now on, I would really like it if you would start calling me Precious Cargo. Or PC, if you'd prefer.

Rick: (grins; accelerates into traffic) Okay, Precious Cargo.

End Scene.

*fine Democratic candidates for office; I am in love with Senator Sherrod Brown and have been forever.


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Sign Language Saturday: Feeding My Addiction To Names

Along with shoes, cows, and books, I've been sort of obsessed with Names since I was a child. I've written about Names quite a bit here at the Dept., and I've mentioned more than once how I feel disappointed with my own. My given Name, Nancy, has never suited me; I shortened it to Nance early on and have gone by it professionally and personally for decades. I'm not excited about that Name, either, but oh well.

Having a boring and unsuitable Name has made me a noticer and coveter and collector of Names. I love beautiful Names (like Annabelle), unusual Names (like Barkevious), melodious Names (Vivienne), evocative Names (Tristan), and am fascinated by trends in Names. Lucky for me, there is a Sign that feeds my Name Addiction, and I pass by it at least once a week. It is on the grounds of an elementary school not very far at all from where I live, and it lists the Names of all its weekly Pride Award Winners. Here are this week's:

(I've blacked out surnames and the name of the school for privacy/security reasons. These are, after all, elementary kids.)

This is quite a hoity-toity, high-tea-in-the-drawing-room-sounding collection of Names, is it not?  I feel like Victoria, Cameron, and Elizabeth are probably sitting there, backs nice and straight, politely applauding with gloved hands whilst Caleb collects his Pride Award, hoping that their Good Example is followed by the rest of the class.

Those Names are a bit of a departure from the previous week, when the Pride Awards went to Dallas, Raven, Liam, and Aniyah.  These Winners probably had to take an hour off from their MTv reality show or maybe from taping "4ForRock", a KidzChannel show about four elementary school kids who are in an after-school rock band and yes, each one is a fashion doll, available now!

Previous to that week, Jordan, Amari, Marissa, and Ciara collected Awards.  Each of them likely used their acceptance speech as a platform for his or her work with International Charitable Organizations, a couple of which they personally founded.  I bet a short personal video from Angelina Jolie was shown, including an original song sung by native children they inspired.

I love Names!  I love them all, and I love the character they seem to convey.  Names are fun and interesting.  This sign gives me a little boost every week.  I think I'll add its list of first Names to my sidebar just in case anyone else likes to check in on Names.

Driving With Irony In My iPhone: It's Better Than Booze In My Travel Mug

Getting around in my area is a Nightmare lately.  I'll spare you the horrific details of closed roads, new traffic patterns, and So Much Orange.

So.  Much.

Anyway.

Rather than dissolve into a weeping tirade of empassioned profanity every single day, I use the inevitable delays on these roads to whip out my iPhone and take pictures.

Because, in the words of Ferris Bueller, "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Here are a few from this week:


1.

So Basic!

Okay!  WORKERS.  We're for 'em!  Or...we need some!  Or...what now?

2.

Is He Winking?

I'm not making any cracks about this one.

3.

Don't Show This To Kirk Cameron!

If size really does matter, then it's easy to see who's winning.  If it's about jobs, jobs, jobs, then...same.

Help me out with Captions (or just chat away) in Comments.

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The Real Reason They Are Closing Over 100 Applebee's, Probably

Earlier this month, the group that owns the restaurant chain Applebee's announced it was closing up to 135 of its restaurants. It gave a broad range of reasons, from location to shifting habits of diners to its own mistake of trying to attract millennial diners.

Okay, whatever.

All I know is, the sign in front of the Applebee's near my favourite grocery store was so mind-numbingly awful in its total disregard for The Language that I pulled into a neighbouring parking lot after shopping so that I could pop off these photos IN SUCCESSION.

And put them here. For everyone.

Because I had to do Something.

I'm starting you off small, with a simple, yet always annoying, error

...which they repeated, of course, because why not?

Here, the Sign Programmer is still befuddled by the Use Of Apostrophes.  Or, he used them all up in the previous signs, so he could not properly place one in IT'S.  He obviously follows the St. Patsy rule of exclamation points (More Is Better).   And I guess if you don't understand the nuances of apostrophes, then compound words...well, forget it.

This is my favourite one, I think. I honestly don't mind the little exclamation point after HOT. It's creative and fun. But I think the fine people of Nashville (and I) might have a bit of an issue with the new spelling of the town.

Sigh.  That sign is STILL there, in all its horrific wrongness, over a week later.  So painful.

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Would An RV By Any Other Name...?

Oh, Dearest Readers, I Am Back. Back from gorgeous and wineful Niagara-on-the-Lake, and back from the Grey Sad Doldrums of Vitamin D Deficiency. I feel so much more Myself; there is so much more Nance-ness bubbling inside me. The Blah in my bones is almost gone and my energy is returning. My ankle sprain didn't slow me down much at all, and Life Is Feeling More Like Living.

I'm so very grateful.

But enough about all of That. I want--almost Need--to talk about something else right now. And that something is RVs. Campers. Trailers. Recreational Vehicles. Because let me tell you--while we were driving from Ohio to Ontario, Canada, and back again, they seemed to be everywhere.

Now, I'm not a camping kind of person. Or even glamping (i.e., glamour camping--a term coined out of necessity because so many RVs and campers are so deluxe now).  I can't stand to think of dragging such a bigass vehicle all over the country, looking for campgrounds with hookups and then worrying about who I pull up next to and all of that. The cost of gasoline alone would send me into a panic. That, however, is me. Judging by the volume of campers Rick and I saw on the road, glamping is Hot Right Now. And a Big Deal.

I'm sure lots of people (who are Not Me) love the idea. It sounds very adventurous and pioneering. And, in a way, exciting and liberating. You can grab some basics, throw them in the car/motorhome, and start driving and explore the country. Or whatever.

What does NOT sound very wonderful are the names of some of these vehicles. I started noticing the names on the sides and back ends of campers and RVs and, let me tell you, whoever is naming these things should be out of a job.

The first one to puzzle me was Avenger. For a little old plain white trailer. It looked like the one my grandparents, Ethel and Joe, used to haul behind their Chrysler to Florida every winter. In what way is a trailer an "avenger"? What is it avenging? When I think of an avenger, I think of something dark and quick, something slightly sinister and sharp. For those of you who are more into comic books or films, you're probably thinking of The Avengers. Trust me, in no way did that little metal sugar cube look anything like any one of these:

http://img09.deviantart.net

Then we passed a Cyclone. This might be the worst name ever for a trailer. I think we all know of the unfortunate association between tornadoes and trailer/mobile home parks. Is this really the sort of image one wants to conjure up to boost camper sales? What are the other campers in this line--Toto, Dorothy, Tin Man, Kansas, and the deluxe model, Oz?

Other RV names were just clunky and ugly, like the one called Work and Play Ultra. Do that many people really buy an RV for work (or want to), let alone ultra work? This thing was as big as Rhode Island, so I'm sure just parking it was ultra work. Another one was called Dutch Star. I'm struggling to think what the Dutch have to do with RVs, driving, or stars. I know the Flying Dutchman was the legendary ghost ship that was doomed to never make port, but even that makes more sense for an RV name than Dutch Star, which, by the way, had absolutely no stars in its paint job, nor anything Dutch.

I started wondering why the RV and camper names were so goshdarned terrible. Was it because all the good names were taken by cars, like Roadster, Scout, Traveler, Pathfinder, Voyager, and the like? Why can't they start using literary names that are in the public domain then, like Ivanhoe, Lancelot, Caesar, Othello, or Beowulf? Even some animal names would be better, or some astronomy terms, or natural entities: Timberwolf, Solstice, Tumbleweed. I mean, come on. I would rather they gave these vehicles actual name names, even, like Stephen, Mirabel, Chris, Jose, Vilnius, Gretchen, or Anne. 

Even bottles of Coke have better names.

image via pinterest via google

Tell me you wouldn't rather have a little camper named Wolfgang than Work And Play Ultra. Or Cyclone.  I know, right?

Think up some good camper/RV names and put them in Comments. And tell me how you feel about camping.


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J Is For Jalopy

For most of my life, we had two cars in the driveway: The Good Car and Dad's Work Car. Neither one was ever a new car. My dad used his vast network of friends and family, former teammates and Army buddies, work and neighborhood relationships, as well as hometown politics to tap into a huge supply of used automobiles. Now and then, I would be roused from my Standard Oblivion of library books, Barbies, and schoolwork to hear Dad mention to Mom after work that he was in need of/getting/bringing home a car. Next thing I knew, there in the driveway or parked in front of the house would be the latest car. I rarely got excited or interested. After all, what difference in my life did it really make?

Only one of Dad's work cars ever became interesting to me, and it soon captured the the interest of many of our neighbors as well. We had never had a car like it before, and trust me; after it, we never had another one like it again.

Dad had already seen the car, a stubby little  Rambler American (like the one pictured above) in the possession of some guy he knew named Eddie. Eddie was an aged Car Guy, and he already had our old 1952 Chevy sitting in his huge back field, silently rusting into Oblivion. Dad had pointed out some big rust spots on the Rambler's hood and fenders, among other things, and Eddie said he'd take care of them. I think Dad and he agreed on a price of maybe two hundred bucks.

When the Rambler came home, we couldn't help but smile. It was such a funny-looking car, so boxy and small. And Eddie had simply placed sheet metal over the rust spots, screwed it down with dozens of screws, and painted the patches with some blue paint that was as close a colour match as he could find. It was like a FrankenCar. But it was only Dad's Work Car, and it didn't have to be pretty to sit at US Steel or at the curb on E. 38th Street.

Pretty soon, however, the Rambler started having problems. Or, at least, Dad started having problems with the Rambler. On some mornings, it was difficult to start. He'd go out, try and try, but it would not turn over. He'd come in, fling down his stuff, and swear. My mother would say, "Let me try, honey." She'd go out, clad in housecoat and slippers, and it would start right up for her. Once in a while, a neighbor would be out getting the newspaper or letting his dog out, and offer up some pithy remark. Let's just say that those were not the Best Days.

Finally, the Rambler became too temperamental, and Dad began taking The Good Car to work. We were stuck at home with the Rambler, which had begun refusing to start even for my mother. Dad probably began working his Network at this point, but that didn't help me one evening when I needed supplies for a school project and Dad was on a 3-11 shift. Walking was out of the question: it would be dark by the time I got everything and started back. Mom would have to coax the Rambler into service.

With high hopes Susan and I piled into the car, and Mom ordered us to cross our fingers. My younger sister and I were bouncing on the seat, urging the Rambler to life. And it worked! The car sputtered and caught, and we drove on to Kmart, about two miles away. On our way, Mom explained the seriousness of our situation. "Okay, now, girls. Here's what we have to do. I'm afraid that if I park the car, I may not get it started again. So, what I have to do is this: I'll drive as slow as possible once we get there. When I drive past the entrance, you open the door and jump out. Hurry up and get what you need because I have to keep driving around and around the parking lot, waiting for you. When you're done, come out and stand right where I dropped you off. I'll drive as slow as I can, open the door, and you run alongside and jump back in. Got it?"

We Got It.

One of the things that comes to my Memory immediately about this Incident is not that it was stupid or inconvenient or even dangerous. It was all of those things, of course. It was. It absolutely was. But the thing that comes to my mind immediately is that Susan and my Mom and I all laughed and laughed and laughed together like maniacs the entire time. We were having so much fun. We were having the best time.

And Susan and I flew through that store. We were a team, and we knew our mother, the other part of our team, was out there, putt-putting around the entire stupid parking lot in that stupid stupid car, which might give out at any time, so we had better hurry up. I remember looking out through the enormous store windows as I stood in the checkout line and watching my mother in that ridiculous blue car drive past. And we waved.

We grabbed our bag and ran out to the edge of the parking lot, waiting for her to drive by. She slowed down, threw the passenger door open, and almost stopped the car. Susan and I flung ourselves into the front seat. Mom hit the gas, and we struggled to shut the door. We were laughing so hard that we couldn't even speak. We made it home, and Mom parked the Rambler in front of the house as if it had never left. Knowing her, I'm sure that as soon as she turned off that car, she tried to turn it over again, but I can't really remember.

No, we never had another car like the Rambler. The rest of the cars were much more reliable and much less adventurous. Times with my mother and my sisters, however, continued to be pretty much the same. Thank goodness.

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E Is For Endurance

Here's a short list of a few things which tax my Endurance. They require that I Soldier On gamely and mightily, often times with more Good Nature than I truly feel.

1. My Hair
2. Presidential Primary Season
3. Chapped Lips
4. Rick's Windshield Wiper Behaviour
5. Downton Abbey's Final Season

Please find something to grip tightly and To Steady Yourself, and allow me to Explain.

1. Something has happened to my hair in the past year or two, rendering it limply soft and Completely Impossible. There is no shampoo, no gel, no spray, no hair mucilage invented that can make my hair do a damn thing. Additionally, it is (cue horror movie music) Growing Out, which means it is Completely Awful and an Endurance Test each time I try to, oh, let's say...do any damn thing "with" or "to" it. Thank you to anyone who is crying empathetically whilst reading this.

2. We are now in Year Eleventy of the Presidential Primary Season, and I could throw up. Again. After ramming DTrump down our collective gullets for months and months, pollsters and pundits and news anchors are now gleefully performing gory post mortems on his Primary Corpse. After one primary. In Iowa. Listen, I'd be thrilled if we really could lay TheDonald to rest for real, but come on. One primary. And it was a caucus, which is like a coffee klatch, really. Is it okay if, oh, I don't know, THE REST OF THE COUNTRY HAS AN ELECTION? WITH REAL VOTES/BALLOTS AND SUPER DELEGATES AND STUFF? When is the country going to finally have one primary election date and stop this staggered primary voting? It's insane, and more than we should ever Endure.

3. This has been the mildest winter in years (NEO had temps in the 60's yesterday!), but I am Enduring the worst case of Chapped Lips in decades. Nance, you say, have you tried Burt's Bees, Carmex, Vaseline, olive oil, Blistex in a million varieties, and scrubbing at them with a washcloth? Oh, ha ha; it is to laugh. But of course I have. I have even tried the Super Duper All-Natural Remedy of Plain Honey. Here is what is working the best: None of them. None of them is working.

4. I am going to stop riding in any car with Rick when it rains because he cannot handle the windshield wipers. As soon as it stops raining, or if the rain lessens, that does not matter in the least; the wipers must still be employed continuously as before, even if they are screeching across a completely dry window. This is His Rule, apparently, and it is Consistently Applied. I have tried to Endure this with Extreme Patience And Silence. Believe me; I have. It is Impossible. After many minutes, I completely Lose It. "PLEASE TURN OFF THE WIPERS OR I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF/JUMP OUT OF THIS CAR/SCREAM MY BLOODY HEAD OFF!", is what I usually say if I don't simply reach over in a lather and shut them off myself.

5. How can PBS and creator/writer Julian Fellowes do this to me? That this is Downton Abbey's final season is too much to Endure! Why do all of My Shows end up gone but terrible and awful shows seem to go on forever and forever and forever? I've become a DA junkie. I've started watching each episode twice a week: once on Sundays, then again midweek when it's offered, savouring each little character moment, each costume, each British-accented word. Oh, how I'll miss it. And nothing--nothing--can take its place.

Oh, darlings.  What do you think?  And what are you currently Enduring?

A Driving Story In Which We Discuss Irony, Connotation, And Simile (And Any Other English Class Vocabulary You'd Like)

It was one of those rare times when I was zipping along on Rt. 58, driving admittedly well above the speed limit and with no one ahead of me for miles. Foolishly, I dared hope--no--believe that I was going to, as St. Patsy likes to say, Make Good Time for once on this damned road that is usually full of dawdlers, slowpokes, and Sunday Drivers.

Then I crested a hill and there it was, a boxy red car going Nowhere. I had to apply my brakes. On the highway. The speed limit is 55 on that particular stretch, and this car was travelling at a leisurely 42 mph. As is always the case with my fortunes, the double yellow line had appeared on the road as it became more hilly and winding, and I was stuck.

Irritated, I poked at the buttons of the radio and looked for some music or some interesting talk. Traffic coming the other way had begun to pick up a little, and I sighed loudly. It figured. Even when it was legal to pass this guy, opposing traffic might make it impossible.

I also found it annoying that the car was called a Nitro, according to the chrome plate on it. There was absolutely nothing about this vehicle that remotely suggested "Nitro" to me, which evokes in my mind explosions or speed or power or that one American Gladiator--remember him? Certainly not a square, stodgy car like this poky thing.

Anyway.

As I fumed and fussed, I noticed the offending car rocking just a little. It was then that I became aware of a huge dark mass moving around inside it. It was large enough to obscure the rear window a bit, and completely block the rearview mirror at times. "Holy crap," I said aloud. "What the hell is in there?"

Route 58 goes directly through a hamlet which is almost entirely a school zone, and trust me, this almost kills me. It also has two train crossings and a ton of construction. As I followed Red Nitro and approached this mess, I watched with growing curiosity the shape-shifter inside the car. Once we cleared the first train tracks and orange barrels, things became suddenly clearer.

The driver must have put all the windows down from a central control because as soon as we started moseying through town, an enormous dog head appeared through the rear passenger window and began barking. Loudly and a lot. At everything. Then the dog turned around, and its head appeared in another window to do the same on the other side. This went on--from all four windows in random succession--all the way through the small town, and it may well have gone on for the rest of his ride, however long it took. I will never know.

Because coming out of that village, I took advantage of the broken white line and passed Red Nitro. But before I did, I had ample time to notice a decal I had missed until we meandered through that maddening, tiny burgh. It was this one:

The story doesn't end there. A few days later, Rick and I dropped in on my brother at his lakehouse, and he was recounting an adventure he had just had while mowing his three lots with his riding mower. "It was terrible," he was telling St. Patsy. "I stopped the mower and sat there with my legs drawn up. That thing charged me with its teeth bared, barking like hell. It was the biggest German Shepherd I ever saw. And all the guy did was stand way over in his yard and keep calling to it. That dog didn't even hear him, or act like it did. I finally yelled, 'Can you just come over and get it?' And the guy comes over with the leash, gets the dog, and doesn't say a word to me. Not one."

Guess what was parked two doors down?

I think that his decal is maybe overselling it.


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Death, Be Not Proud, But At Least Be As Dignified As Possible

No matter where you live, I know you've all seen them. Even if you haven't seen one in actuality, you've at least seen them on television during reports of tragic deaths either by gun violence, traffic accidents, or even acts of terrorism. They're often spontaneous, many times poignant, and always well-meaning.

I'm talking about the makeshift memorials that appear at the site of a terrible and sad death. They are very common in Cleveland, for example, these displays of stuffed animals, candles, balloons, and flowers intermingled with hand-lettered posters and cards and notes and photos, even some paintings and sketches of the deceased or murdered. Along two of the highways I drive frequently are faded wreaths, their significance unknown to me. I have no idea who they mourn, and now they look dirty and bedraggled. I find myself feeling worse about the condition of the memorial than what could have happened there.

Then I feel guilty for being shallow. Then I feel resentful about the way our culture deals with death. Then I berate myself for being so complex in my own feelings about death. Then I push a bunch of buttons on the radio and try to think about something else.

Today, however, I saw an entirely different sort of Memorial. I was absolutely amazed, and you know that word is not one that I use lightly. Here it is; tell me what you think:

It suddenly appeared before me in traffic, and thank heaven I had enough time to snap a photo.  The back window is painted, for those of you who cannot make it out clearly, with the words "Rest In Heaven Angy Anne' 11-25-98  8-29-15."  

Never before in my life have I seen this sort of Mobile Memorial.  I have seen cars painted to announce softball championships, high school senior jubilation, graduation joy, wedding elation, birthday announcement, driver's license success, the fact that a certain team is bound for state competition, and to inform me that "Lordy, Lordy, Someone Is Forty", but never that someone is dead and that the driver wishes her to be at peace in the afterlife.

Let me add this to the List Of Things No One Should Do When He Or She Hears That I Am Dead.  Driving around with a back-window announcement of my passing is, to me, actually worse than posting it on PinTwitFace.  It is actually more undignified, if that is possible.  It is worse than passing it in a note during study hall or class or, if you go, church.  I would absolutely rather it be announced during, oh, almost any event except perhaps a Toby Keith or Miley Cyrus concert.  I would rather have it be a singing telegram sent to someone and performed in a gorilla suit--no!--a gorilla in a tutu--than have anyone drive around with the news of my passing shoe-polished on the back window of his Chevrolet.  Or Honda.  Or even her Nissan Leaf, as environmentally friendly as that car is.

Please, in Comments, tell me I am Not Alone.


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